"1984," Hopper answers, knowing it's more than three decades before the time he's found himself in now. Most of the time he tries not to think about it, knowing if he does, he's not going to be able to stop. So many thing are different, enough to overwhelm him, and he has enough to think about with adding technology and all the shit he doesn't know to the pile.

He almost gives an awkward pat at the front of her jacket with the napkins before he realizes what he'd be doing and stops himself with his hand outstretched. He's been around kids for too damn long, it's like he's forgotten how to interact with actual adults.

"I'm Jim," he says. "Can I buy you a replacement coffee?"